


Mistakes Happen

by Eshusplayground



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshusplayground/pseuds/Eshusplayground
Summary: Gwen didn't intend to sleep with Morgana. It just sort of . . . happened.





	Mistakes Happen

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on "Moonstruck."

Gwen didn’t mean to shag Morgana; it was an accident. Well, not really an accident. It’s not like she tripped and fell between Morgana’s slender, sinewy thighs, though if she had, Morgana would be the most likely person who’d arrange such a happenstance. The thing is, she didn’t intend to wind up atop the creaky bed in Morgana’s hovel naked as the day she was born, moaning and writhing in ecstasy as Morgana’s mouth and hands worked magic on her flesh.

 

It all started when Arthur decided that he wanted Morgana, of all people, to come to the wedding. The notion struck Gwen as mad, and she told Arthur so, but he said that it’s been the tradition for hundreds of years. Even when brothers were at war with one another, they ceased hostilities to attend one another’s weddings. Or so the legends went. It sounded like rubbish to Gwen, but she must have been mental because she agreed to do it nonetheless. Arthur had never quite come to terms with what happened to Morgana, for he still held out hope that one day, she would come to her senses and return to Camelot and be a family again. He still got her birthday gifts, for God’s sake.

 _I’m not giving upon her, Gwen. She’s still my sister, and Father would’ve wanted me to keep trying._ Gwen had half a mind to tell Arthur that what Uther would have wanted could go stuff it, but she was to be a queen soon, and queens didn’t talk like that.

 

The hard part about inviting Morgana to the wedding–that is, prior to actually speaking with her and living to tell about it–had been finding her. It was only by chance (though perhaps there was also the hand of fate involved as well) that sharp-eyed Percival caught a string of smoke winding up toward the sky, but that had been a trick. Morgana, who had been watching and following them for days, came upon their rear, and with naught but a shimmer of orange in her eyes, all four of the knights accompanying Gwen were flung through the air and landed on the ground, unconscious. One of these days, she would have to ask Gaius about the long-term effects of repeated head injuries.

Morgana turned her pale green gaze upon Gwen, smiling her I’m-going-to-eat-you-alive smile. If Gwen had run away screaming right at that moment, maybe she would not have accidentally-but-not-quite wound up being thoroughly ravished in Morgana’s bed.

But, instead of taking off as fast as her legs could carry her like someone with some sense of self-preservation, she gave Morgana the invitation she spent the entire trip rehearsing in her mind. To Gwen’s surprise, Morgana started laughing. Not a wicked smirk, not an evil chuckle, an actual laugh that had her holding her sides to keep them from bursting. Why didn’t she just try to kill her instead?

Then Morgana surprised her again by extending a hand to Gwen and inviting her to rest and share a meal at her temporary lodging, emphasizing the temporary bit. Before Gwen could ask why she was doing this, she said, “Just because I despise Arthur doesn’t mean that you and I can’t be civil.”

 

“I hope you like pheasant,” said Morgana, laying two plates with steaming birds on the table. Gwen wanted to tell her that she didn’t want a thing from her, but she was a guest in Morgana’s home, as humble as it was (though better than having no home at all and having to sleep in the heat, rain, and cold), and it was rude to turn down food freely offered.

There was also the fact that she was actually hungry. They had no utensils, so they had to eat with their hands. The conversation was sparse, to say the least. Gwen had nothing to say to Morgana that would be taken as anything but an insult or a threat no matter how benign, and Morgana’s entire focus was on parting the pheasant’s breasts and thighs, sucking and nibbling its delectable flesh and licking its juices off her fingers.

“Something on your mind?” asked Morgana.

“No.”

“You seem preoccupied.”

“Are you coming to the wedding or not?”

Morgana shrugged. Gwen drew in a breath and counted to ten. Thankfully, this would be over soon, and she could go home.

“Why are you marrying Arthur? He spends more time with his manservant than with you.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“So . . .  _mean_!”

“Uther–-”

“No, no, you don’t get to blame Uther for everything! Do you honestly think you’ve been hurt more than everybody else during his reign?”

Morgana’s hovel suddenly felt colder. 

“You don’t know the first thing about it,” she said.

“Oh, please. You act like you’re the first person to ever shed a tear when, truth be told, you had it better than the vast majority of us.”

Gwen flinched as Morgana made a sweeping motion with her arm, and the remains of their dinner clanged to the floor. 

It would’ve been easier, Gwen supposed, to blame Morgana for what happened next, but it was hard to blame Morgana when Gwen was the one who pounced first and started snogging Morgana for all she was worth. These were not the sweet, neat pecks they’d read about in the storybooks they’d giggled over when they were children. These kisses were deep, wet, and messy, just like Gwen and Morgana were with one another. Their hands were all over, stroking, grabbing, squeezing. 

Finally, Gwen understood why Morgana fought so often and so fiercely on her behalf and why it mattered so much that Gwen could soothe Morgana’s night terrors and make her smile. That’s not to say that there were no exploratory smooches within the privacy of Morgana’s chambers, but those were for “practice” for their future husbands, not for real. Until now.

Somehow, they made it to the bed, nipping as lips kissed necks, shoulders, breasts, thighs amidst cries of rapture.

 

Gwen awakened to the sweet calls of songbirds heralding the morning. When her eyes opened, two things quickly became clear. One, she was naked, and two, a wiry arm was wrapped around her waist. A very familiar arm.

“OH MY GOD!” she shrieked.

“What?” muttered Morgana, still half asleep.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

No, no, no, no, no, that did not happen. It was a dream. It was a fantasy. It did not happen outside her own head. She had to get out of here. Where were her clothes?

“What’s wrong? Gwen?” asked Morgana.

“Where the hell is my shift?”

“You need to calm down, my darling.”

“How can I be calm? You ruined my life!”

“No, I didn’t–-”

“Oh, yes, you did! Yes, you did! You used me! This is another one of your tricks, isn’t it? I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I will have no part in it. I’m going to marry Arthur, do you hear me? Last night never happened, and I’m going to marry him, and you and I will take this to our graves.”

“I can’t,” said Morgana.

“Why not? You never told a lie before?”

“I’m in love with you.”

God, she could just slap Morgana right now! Twice. Gwen’s poor knickers got manhandled instead.

“Just . . . snap out of it!”

“Gwen–-”

“Oh, and you can’t come to the wedding.”

“But Arthur wants me to come.”

“Because he doesn’t know, and he never will know, do you understand? I don’t care how much you want to gloat, you will keep it to yourself. This is a complete disaster! Where the bloody hell my shoes?”

Morgana looped her arms around Gwen from behind, and everything went still.

“Shhh,” she cooed, brushing her lips against the curve of Gwen’s neck. 

“Come back to bed,” whispered Morgana. Why, why, why did she have to mention the bed? Everything from the night before came to her as she scrambled to find her clothes, and her body, the traitor, tingled as she recalled the memories: Morgana’s kissing between her thighs…tasting herself on Morgana’s lips . . . being held close by Morgana (the way she used to when they were friends) as her fingers plunged into soft, wet heat.

“Stay with me. Just for tonight.”

Apparently, Gwen was the type of person who made the same mistake twice because she said, “Alright.”

The next morning, Gwen woke up naked in Morgana’s arms again. This time, she was in no hurry to leave. Perhaps she should have been, but it was hard to find a reason to give a damn.

 

Gaius noticed straight away.

“You have a love bite on your neck. Arthur should be back any moment,” he said, looking straight at the bruise Morgana left. Ever the physician, he slathered some minty-smelling green salve on the mark.

“If anyone asks, it’s a treatment for a skin rash you got from poison oak.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” said Gwen.

Gaius went to the kitchens and brought back a tray stacked with several plates. They ate supper–with utensils, thank God–and chatted about mostly nothing. It was a relief.

Someone knocked on the door. Gaius said it must have been Merlin, but when he answered the door, his back went rod-straight and his face slackened.

“Hello, Gaius,” said the voice that sent shivers up Gwen’s spine, though she could not, at the moment, tell if it was excitement or fear.

“Lady Morgana,” he said. Gwen got the distinct feeling that it wasn’t courtesy that kept Gaius from slamming the door in her face, but the fact that Morgana could skin him alive with a glance.

“Are you hiding Gwen in here? Ah, there she is,” she said, sweeping into Gaius’ chambers without so much as an, "Excuse me, may I?"

“You have a love bite on your neck,” said Gaius. Gwen wished she could sink into the floor.

“What are you doing here?” asked Gwen. Didn’t she tell Morgana to stay away? Why couldn’t she just do one simple thing? In a few fluid steps, Morgana crossed distance between the door and the table and sat next to Gwen. 

“We haven’t finished our conversation,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“I believe I made myself perfectly clear.”

Merlin burst into the room. Gwen immediately felt sorry for him. After a long day of hunting, he was bruised, breathless, and sweating like a hog. Dirt smudged his face, and leaves stuck out of his hair. Poor thing.

“I’m so glad that's over,” said Merlin, “I’m starving. What’s for–Gaius, why is Morgana sitting at our table?”

“MERLIN!!!!” bellowed Arthur from the hall. Of all the things Gwen did not need right now . . .

Arthur strode into Gaius’ chambers with the easy, self-assured entitlement of all Gwen had come to expect of royalty, though at times it still shocked her how rarely they bothered to ask for what they wanted.

“Gaius, have you seen–-Merlin, you lazy idiot! You were supposed to brush down the horses. Do I have to do everything myself? Gwen, you’re back, and you brought Morgana. I knew you could do it. Merlin, go prepare Morgana’s chambers.”

“But I haven’t eaten–”

“Now, Merlin!”

Merlin muttered, “Dollop-head” under his breath, followed by a barely-heard string of colorful phrases about royal prats and highborn gits, and slammed the door on his way out.

 

They all dined on roast mutton, potatoes, cheese, and bread. While they ate like civilized people, Morgana would, every few minutes, discretely squeeze Gwen’s hand beneath the table. Rather than pinching, slapping, or plucking her as she should, Gwen squeezed back.

“You two seem to be getting on,” Arthur said.

Morgana answered with a sly smile and said, “We’ve made amends.”

“See, I told Merlin all you had to do was talk it out. Girls.”

“We didn’t talk very much,” said Morgana. Gwen choked on her wine. Bloody hell, did she have to be so obvious about it? Thankfully, Arthur didn’t pick up on it. Or maybe guilt had her jumping at innuendos.

“Excuse me,” said Gwen, grabbing Morgana’s arm and almost dragging her into the hallway.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked.

Morgana answered by looping an arm around Gwen’s waist and pulling her into a kiss. Oh, nice. Kissing was good. Kissing was _really_ good. Morgana was _very_  good at kissing. Dear God, why hadn’t she been doing this all along?

“I knew you’d done something to her.”

Gwen’s heart nearly stopped. Merlin stood in the hallway glaring at them–-well, glaring at Morgana. Why Gwen didn’t drop dead that second was anyone’s guess. Maybe fate enjoyed mortifying her and making her live to remember it. That had to be it.

“Merlin, she–-I mean, I–-it’s not–-” Gwen said.

“Whatever you’ve done to her, undo it right now,” said Merlin.

“Or what?” said Morgana. Gwen sighed. Merlin had every reason to think she was enchanted, and that smirk on Morgana’s face wasn’t helping. She had to stop this before everything went out of hand.

“Um, Merlin? I need to, uh, explain something.“

Gwen told him everything. Merlin, to his credit, took it rather well. For the most part, Morgana behaved herself, though she sent a few smug smiles in Merlin’s direction.

“You have to tell Arthur. He deserves to know,” he said.

Yes, yes, of course. Gwen knew that. She’d tell Arthur. Eventually. Perhaps while he’s out hunting or something. Maybe she could leave a note and disappear. Come to think of it, that was a great plan. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan.

 

No such luck, as it turned out. The five of them continued their meal in thick silence.

“Can someone tell a joke or something?” asked Gaius.

“I think Gwen has something she wants to share,” said Merlin. Blast him! It was a good thing she didn’t have magic, or she would have shoved him out a window by now. Come to think of it, she still might if Arthur doesn’t lob her head off first.

“Er, well, um . . . y’know, sometimes, things happen, and you don’t plan on them, and at the time you don’t know why, but it all becomes clear and you realize that you think your life should go one way when it really needs to go another way, and . . . ”

Then Morgana just had to “help.”

“What she means, Arthur, dear brother of mine, is that she and I shagged each other senseless for the past couple of days–-”

Gwen groaned and put her head in her hands.

“And we have discovered that we are madly in love, and we no longer need you, or Camelot, or–-”

“Morgana!” cried Gwen.

“You’ve enchanted her,” said Arthur.

Morgana sighed. “Arthur, do give me some credit. If I had enchanted her, I would have had her marry you then poison you the moment the marriage was consummated. Then, to prove her love and devotion to me, I would have had her abdicate the throne and give the crown to me. After which, I would have shagged her on top of your grave every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Oh my God!” said Gwen.

“Then why didn’t you?” asked Merlin, giving Morgana a pointed look.

“Well, it would have made Gwen sad.”

“That doesn’t make any bloody–-”

“Merlin!” said Gaius, “I believe that in matters such as this, it is the prerogative of the betrothed to decide what to do next.”

Arthur sat in his seat, utterly still and quiet, as if someone had carved him from stone. Gwen wouldn’t swear to it, but she could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head like thunderclouds. He must’ve been so hurt and confused, and she should be sorry, but . . .

“So, you and Morgana . . . but how does that even work with two girls?” asked Arthur. Ugh! That . . . that . . .  _dollop-head_! 

This entire situation could not possibly get any worse with Arthur being a prat and Morgana egging him on and Merlin meddling and Gaius not helping at all. It’s a _really_  good thing Gwen didn’t have magic. If she did, she’d drop the roof on the whole lot of them.

“You see, Arthur, when two women love each other very much–-”

“Morgana, don’t," said Gwen, "I mean it. Don’t.”

For once, Morgana heeded her.

“Gwen, I’m going to need the ring back,” Arthur said.

“What!”

“The ring. You have to give it back.”

“Of all the–-fine. Here. I hope you choke on it, you–-you wanker!”

The others gasped when she said it, most likely because they’d never heard her say anything stronger than a “Shoot!” or “Drat!” Gwen snatched the ring off her finger and hurled it back at Arthur’s forehead. There was a satisfying, “Ow, that hurt!” 

“Gwen,” said Morgana.

“What?”

“Will you marry me?”

Everyone else, in unison, shouted, “WHAT!”

“Morgana, I–-where’s the ring?”

There was such a thing as doing things properly, after all.

“Arthur, could you hand me that ring, please?” asked Morgana. Too dumbstruck to refuse, Arthur dropped the gold band in Morgana’s palm. Morgana presented it to her as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Will you marry me, Guinevere of Camelot, daughter of Tom?”

It was so like Morgana to be so awful for so long and then, at the right moment, be so wonderful it pierced the heart. Of course Gwen said yes. As Morgana slipped the ring onto her finger, it was, ironically, Gaius who wept.

“Gaius, what’s wrong?” asked Merlin.

“I’m confused,” said Gaius.

Then Gwen and Morgana kissed, right there in front of everyone. Of course, there was one little snag about the whole marrying Morgana bit, and that was the fact that marriage, in Camelot, was between a man and a woman–-or so it seemed, until one of Arthur’s advisers looked at the written laws and saw no indication of such a requirement. Meanwhile, Merlin and Morgana gave each other a shifty look.

They were married three days later and returned to Morgana’s hovel. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses after that. Life never is, but there was passion and joy and love. Always love.


End file.
